


Heaven Sent (Mad)

by Scree_Kat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beelzebub's best day EVER, Gabriel's terrible horrible no good very bad day, Gen, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, You asked so nicely how could I say no?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26460217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scree_Kat/pseuds/Scree_Kat
Summary: They'd all assumed Beelzebub was lying. Why wouldn't they? Ineffable adoptees?Ridiculous. Impossible.The very idea that Aziraphale and his pet demon had gone full mortal and adopted a brat beggared belief. But when Sandalphon stumbles upon some rather compelling evidence to the contrary, a once in a lifetime opportunity presents itself. Why shouldn't he take advantage?Revenge shouldn’t be this difficult, surely?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Harry Potter, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Hermione Granger
Comments: 14
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

SANDALPHON

Sandalphon's orders had been the usual vague affair: _spread goodness_. Very bloody helpful. What did it even mean, anyway? Goodness wasn't like that horrid looking black stuff the mortals seemed to like spreading onto their toast of a morning! Nor was it like the viruses they occasionally sent to keep the mortals in line. Goodness didn't _spread,_ it just sort of... sat there like vomit or lunch meat, or whatever it was humans kept sitting around these days. So if goodness was unspreadable, what in the name of all things Holy was he meant to be doing?

He had no idea, but he knew he needed to think of something, fast. The only thing worse than being stuck sitting around an uncomfortable table in somehow less comfortable chairs to adopt the role Gabriel's impromptu sounding board was having to listen to one of his motivational speeches if you screwed something up. Sandalphon was not going to risk Gabriel merging his 'quick' four hour motivational monologue (to Gabriel, an immortal being capable of talking into perpetuity, four hours _was_ rather quick for a speech. For those stuck hearing said speech, it was quick in the way plucking every feather from your wings and then swimming in lemon juice was quick. Technically, given the whole immortality thing, it _was_ quick, but it was the sort of quick that felt a thousand times longer than it actually was) with his fourteen hour reminder about proper conduct. Or worse, his eighteen thousand hour retraining workshop. Rumour had it that at least half of the demons fell just to avoid retraining. 

It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest. 

Sitting in a park far less grand than Eden, the angel contemplated- grumpily- his next move. He was an _angel_ for Heaven's sake- how was he meant to know what ridiculousness mortals thought counted as good at this point? The problem with mortals was that their morals tended to change far too often for an eternal being to keep up with. Just because something was deemed virtuous the last time he'd been sent to the proverbial doghouse didn't mean it still was- more than once he'd tried to do something simple only to realise what was nice a hundred years ago was suddenly considered the height of sinfulness. 

And hadn't that required a lot of paperwork? Not to mention a thirty hour lecture to pay better attention, as though Gabriel had any real idea what Earth was even like these days.

Oh, Sandalphon knew it was his own fault, really. He should have known better than to offer his opinions in the management meeting- should have remembered that they existed only to let Gabriel hear himself speak. But in fairness, listening to his boss talking about Beelzebub like the demon wasn't a lying, evil maggot to be crushed beneath their heels so much as a credible source of information was more than a little shocking. It was his divine duty to point out- no matter how politely- that they probably shouldn't be trusting demons. Granted, he shouldn't have asked how Gabriel had received this information given he hadn't left his office since the apocalypse that wasn't. That was a question that came a tad too close to an accusation of treason, but _come on._ Being punished for treating demons as the enemy? Really? 

Sandalphon hated Earth, and Gabriel knew it, the snarmy bastard. It was so noisy- too noisy, thank you very much- and humans smelled terrible. Well, not the humans in particular, though some were more than a little wiffy, but their creations had an unfortunate proclivity towards toxicity and a habit of spewing stinking black smoke around the place. Add humanity's frustrating tendency to react in entirely baffling ways to the smallest of things, and Sandalphon was having a rather terrible time of it. He'd tried to be helpful! It wasn't his fault that humans were too stupid to be grateful!

He had tried to reveal his true form in an effort to convince a drunkard to give up his sinful ways. Instead of being suitably cowed, and committing to a life of better choices, the cursed mortal had hit him in the head with a glass bottle of something that stank terribly and burned his nose and eyes. And then, if you don’t mind, the rotten mortal had yelled about the loss of his drink. The utter cheek!

He had tried to help a small child cross the street. That she’d immediately began screaming about strangers and dangers was baffling to him. He was helping, was she somehow defective and couldn't see that? That three rather large, angry men had intervened, requiring a miraculous intervention to make the lot of them forget the encounter? Unthinkable!

The woman he’d struck up a conversation with about her due date had, quite rudely, told him she wasn't pregnant, and slapped him when he suggested the local gym. It had really, really hurt. That a nearby woman had stormed over to yell about his rudeness- his, as though it was his fault he was stuck beside a violent harpy!- only made the day worse.

Even the cat he'd tried to rescue from rather steep steps had scratched him painfully before yet another shouty human hurried over to accuse him of trying to steal the wretched thing. As if he would!

Nothing had gone to plan. What on earth was wrong with mortals? For all that Aziraphale the traitor had done barely anything in the grand scheme of things, he seemed to somehow manage to actually make the world better for the mortals. They even seemed fond of him! It was… frustrating. 

He had been about to give up, to return to Heaven and accept the inevitable stern talking to, when Aziraphale’s voice seemed to shout out nearby (it wasn’t a shout, not really. In fact, were it not for the angelic ability to hear their nearby siblings in order to more effectively find them in a crowd, it would have barely been a whisper drowned out by the crowd). Deciding that Heaven could definitely wait, he hurriedly followed the sound of Aziraphale’s happy murmuring until he could see his brother leading a small mortal into a cafe. Could it be the demon was telling the truth?

A minor miracle to hide himself from view, he followed the pair inside. 

Aziraphale was talking to the mortal- a boy, named Harry apparently- about… something. Food, by the sounds. Sandalphon rolled his eyes, and felt the urge to scold his brother for diminishing his holy form with gross matter. Forcing himself to silence, he watched the pair ordering multiple dishes, and falling into easy conversation once the waiter had left to place their order. 

It was odd, seeing Aziraphale so relaxed. He leaned back in his chair absently, smiling at the boy yammering on about school. It wasn’t an angelic smile. Those were rather sickly things, more business than happiness, the sort of smile that came from polite acknowledgment of a job well done. His smile was more mortal, filled with emotions that weren’t anger, frustration, or the sense of a machination coming to fruition. He wondered, for barely a moment, what it felt like to feel so positive an emotion. Wondered what it felt like to stand smiling in hellfire, unbothered by the lick of flame. 

‘What do you think, Dad?’ Sandalphon’s attention came hurtling back to the conversation. Dad? It couldn’t be, surely? But no, Aziraphale was beaming now, an adoring sort of a smile as he replied. He truly _had_ adopted a mortal. 

This was too perfect an opportunity to pass by. He waited, barely listening to the ebb and flow of their rather banal conversations, grinning as they walked towards the park. The moment the boy was out of Aziraphale's grasp, he leapt into action, the shout of an angry female child not quite enough to distract him as he grabbed the wretched mortal child and vanished.

*

He had expected some theatrics, perhaps. Tears, snot, maybe even pants soiling, but the boy roughly shoving him away, barking a 'who the fuck do you think you are, asshole?' was certainly not on the list. The boy's face, so open and friendly while with Aziraphale, was rather more enraged now, his hands fisted at his sides and ready to move into a fighting position if needed. Sandalphon studied the boy curiously. 

He wasn't afraid. He shouldn't be, of course, they were angels, not demons- they were the good guys!- but usually, when a mortal had been snatched up and taken to heaven, it took a while for them to stop being afraid, silly, simple creatures that they were. But the stink of fear was nowhere on the boy. Just rage, acrid as bushfire smoke and just as likely to cause trouble. His shout had already drawn unwanted attention, with Michael hurrying over, their expression carefully blank. 

'Why have you brought that _thing_ here, Sandalphon?'

'The demon was right. Aziraphale the traitor has adopted a child. I have brought the evidence, Michael.' A bow of the head in deference he rather hated having to show, and the higher ranking angel was poking and prodding the boy until he gave them a shove, too. 

'Oh, Gabriel will be delighted. Take him to the interrogation rooms. I'll alert Gabriel to his newest visitor.' Of course Michael would go steal the credit for his own hard work. Typical. Grabbing the boy by the arm and yanking, he dragged him towards interrogation, trying and failing to ignore the growing crowd of angels behind him, curious and gossiping. 

The boy, beyond growling, kept his opinions to himself. 


	2. Chapter 2

HARRY

Harry stumbled as he was shoved into the room, making a mental note to make the angel regret his birth (were angels born? He'd never really wanted to ask Zira or Crowley about the mechanics of making little angels or demons, given the givens), let alone the choice to snatch him from the street. His Dad was going to be so worried! And Hermione? Well, Heaven was in for a bad day (if there was anything left for her to tear apart. Everyone who knew them always assumed Hermione taught him to be a rotten little shit, that he’d been a sweet, quiet young man before Aziraphale had whisked him away to a newer, better, family. But that was so far from the truth it was as though the truth had filed for a restraining order. He’d always hated people who thought themselves better than anyone, and especially those who used fear and pain to prove it. He’d always had a million sarcastic comments dancing unspoken on the tip of his tongue because he lived with people who couldn’t understand big words and had a habit of hitting things they couldn’t understand. He'd wanted to tear it all down long before he had a sister, she just provided back up so there weren't retaliatory concussions in his life anymore).

Looking around, he didn't think he'd need Hermione's help to make these glorified feather dusters pay for ruining his day with Hermione and Zira.

For all that Hermione had told him about Hell, and as free as it was from all the dirt and mould, it seemed Heaven was just as gross, if only in a different way. It wasn't clean, it was sterile, the sort of sterile hospitals wished they could achieve, and the sort that made even the air feel scrubbed clean until there was nothing left of it. This? This was Hell, too, far too familiar for his tastes- the sort of hellscape that was somehow even worse than life with the Dursleys. The Dursleys, at least, tried to act the part of normal, tried to make themselves look better than they were by filling every bit of their home with the illusion of wealth and happiness. There was nothing at all in Heaven to make it look lived in- if it weren't for the glittered up angels scurrying about like accountants readying for the world's most boring rave, the entire place would look newly abandoned. Though this was clearly the working part of their world, not the life-outside-of-working part, you'd think there'd be something other than chrome and glass and light just the wrong side of painfully bright that seemed to come from every direction at once. It was like modern office space, just without the ugly art, tea and coffee. He shot the angel- the other one called it Sandalaphon, didn't they?- a scowl as it barked a 'sit' and pointed at a chair as though Harry would need the help identifying where to settle his arse. 

The idea of being treated like a wayward dog made him want to bare his teeth, remind the upstart angel that dogs bite, hard, and humans were at least twice as vicious on their best and kindest days. He doubted the angel was smart enough to understand that kind of a message though. So instead, he allowed himself a final moment to wallow in the annoyance of a lovely day out rudely interrupted, before preparing to make every angel in creation rue ever daring to attack his family. 

And then, with a smirk that would make Hermione very proud (somehow even more proud than her usual 'couldn't be more proud if she tried really, really hard' level of proudness in him, he'd wager), he cheerfully moved to sit on the table. 

'That's... you don't sit there, mortal.' 

Oh, but this was going to be fun. 

Harry tilted his head, pretended to think, but mostly just savoured the sight of an angel fidgeting restlessly at the notion of something oh-so-very out of place within their perfect little lair. And it was perfect. One wall entirely glass, the light beyond so bright it bleached everything to nothingness (or perhaps, there was simply nothing there. What would he know about Heaven's geography?), another the sort of mirror he knew he'd need to investigate further. Hermione had mentioned being watched throughout her interrogations- no doubt Heaven was just as nosy. And two walls of the beigest beige to ever disappoint a decorator, the sort that seemed utterly perfect for creatures that could be summed up by a paint swatch called 'menacing beige', the monotony broken only by a door that looked made of heavy duty locks, barely visible behind the angel. The walls were perfectly clean, not a smudge to be found. A quick glance to his shoes told him that he'd be more than able to remedy that once the angel looked away. A subtle pocket check gifted him the sharpie Hermione had slipped him before Aziraphale searched her bag (he was, apparently, a little tired of letters home about her grading her teacher's worksheets for accuracy of content and grammatical capabilities). If that wall was one way glass, he was scrawling a 'hail satan' on it before he left.

Definitely fun, and too, too, easy. 

'Clearly, you haven't been to earth recently. Haven't spent much time with us mere mortals, have you, Sandals?' The angel jerked, as though startled by a slap to the face with a rotten, liquifying fish corpse, mouth dropping open into a large and horrified o shape. Harry beamed the wicked sort of smile you wouldn't assume a boy raised by an angel would be capable of.

'My _name_ is Sandalphon. San-dal-phon. You will address me with the appropriate respect.'

Oh, he wouldn't make it this easy, surely? Harry raised an eyebrow, looked over the angel as though he were something unpleasant he was about to try and scrape off the sole of his shoe, and offered his best blank (with just a hint of subtle disapproval) expression. As much as he didn't need lessons in being a little shit from Hermione, he'd still managed to learn quite a bit from his twin. She'd even taught him (using Mr Tyler as an example more often than not) how to deal with idiots with opinions. After all, adults with opinions weren't prone to critical thinking. You could provide all the evidence in the most respectful of ways to prove an adult wrong, and they'd simply act as though you'd never spoken. Or worse, punish you for speaking. An adult with an opinion was one of the slowest creatures to adapt to change, and trying to hurry them along was as useful as trying to bribe a tortoise to sprint. No, the trick was always to make them regret speaking out, to leave them either hurrying away to escape or wishing for the sweet relief of death. Preferably both. 

You can't always teach people their opinions are wrong. But you can always teach them to shut the hell up about them. And Sandalphon? He needed to learn to keep his mouth shut and his superiority complex and grubby little hands to himself. 

'Why?' Sandalphon paused, seeming to be surprised at the question before giving it more thought than strictly necessary.

The angel puffed out his chest, looking more foolish for the effort to look proud. His haughty expression looked more like he was feeling a bit squeamish, truth be told. Harry almost, almost, felt sorry for him. At least until he remembered that Zira was going to be _frantic._ 'Because I am an angel, and you should respect your betters.' 

_Good luck with that, Sandals._ He plastered on his best politely curious expression, the sort that made adults think he was eager to learn from them even when he wasn't even listening. 'Why?'

'Because it's respectful?' Oof. From word of god to deflated uncertainty in two one word questions? That had to be a new record. 

'Yeah, but respect works both ways, doesn't it? And it has to be earned. Kidnapping me isn't what you'd call respectful, or ethical behaviour, is it? You know who steals children? Bad people. Nobody good in the history of goodness has ever kidnapped a child. So why do I need to respect someone who kidnaps me? How's that even better? Better than _what_? You know most humans don't go around stealing children from the street, right? By that alone, we're clearly better and ethically superior to angels.'

Sandals was frozen in place, staring as though his brain were trying, failing, to understand what just happened. He hadn't even moved from the doorway. 

Which made it infinitely more hilarious when the door swung open, slamming him out of the way until he narrowly missed hitting his face into the mirror, and a tall, grey-suited angel strode dramatically into the room. 

He could almost hear Pepper calling them a smarmy git. The angel was staring him down, seemingly oblivious to the fact he'd just tried to throw their colleague (sibling? Friend? Who the hell even knew?) through a mirror in his enthusiasm to try and stare Harry into submission. 

Harry offered him his most unimpressed frown. 'Wow. You licked a lot of windows as a kid, huh?'


	3. Chapter 3

GABRIEL

Gabriel had barely hidden his phone after a lovely chat with Beelzebub when Michael strode into the room, as agitated as he'd ever seen them. Hell, he'd seen Michael stagger home from Hell, barely coherent and muttering about demons immune to holy water, the crisp whiteness of their shirt smeared with grime and things Gabriel would rather not try and identify. This wasn't scared agitation, though. This was excitement. Smugness. The sort of mood that all but screamed _'I've got something over you, Gabriel, and I'm about to use it.'_ Though they were thankfully pristine this time, with not a hint of hell stink, the excitement seemed somehow worse than fear.

Naturally, Gabriel barely spared them a glance. Instead, he held up a finger and returned to the paperwork he'd been pretending to complete, ignoring Michael completely. Gabriel had spent eons dealing with dissenters, power-grabbers, and all-around unimportant sorts who thought they were entitled to far more attention than they warranted, with Michael one of the more troublesome of the flock. And yet, despite their efforts (their many, many, _many_ efforts), Michael was still a long way from being a credible threat, and Gabriel was still as close to the top of the food chain it was possible to be without becoming a gigantic disembodied head. 

He had little ambition to become a giant, disembodied head, thank you muchly. While it wouldn't impact his scowling or his lecturing -two of his favourite things- it would certainly make jogging, snooping, leading by example, or time with Beelzebub far more complicated than he'd prefer. Besides, Metatron was only consulted for the big things, old Big Head had no idea how Heaven was run beyond those two or three things a year he was called in to deal with. Somewhere, in amongst the creating and the feuding, the hands-off approach had been chosen to run Heaven, leaving everything open to the interpretation of each angel. And that? That was a frankly terrible idea. There was barely a lick of common sense within the entire Heavenly Host, let alone the ability to create and implement long term plans and evaluate their progress! 

No, let the big heads further up the chain of command sputter and sermon on the rare times they bothered to show up. He'd rather be down here, actually running things, even if nobody realised he was the one who was actually in power. 

_Especially_ if nobody realised he was the one actually in power. 

Take the Apocalypse. Terrible business, that. A right bollocking to the inspirational regions of the anatomy, not to mention the aspirational bits. He'd hoped, of course, that it would all go well, that he'd find himself with a little more power and a little more control, walking around Heaven as the face of victory. Instead, for all the scheming and all the cunning plans he'd thrown into the mix, the Antichrist was defective and hadn't even really tried take over the world! An utter disappointment, frankly. Certainly a sign of poor genetics. The angels, revved up on the thought of a little carnage, hadn't exactly been thrilled with the news they'd need to try again in a few thousand years, nor to be told to put their weaponry away and get back to their paperwork. 

Grumbling, he could handle. It wasn't as though the angelic choirs weren't as liable to whine as to sing their Father's praises. And then Mendalphon had the bright idea to suggest they use their rather extensive collection of weaponry on _him,_ as though Satan's defective brat was something that Gabriel could have planned for. The cheek! Oh, sure, sometimes you have to weed the garden of the lesser sorts- the ones that aren't useful, or were taking over more space than they were allowed. Troublemakers had to go. But you pull out the weeds, not the ancient and glorious oak tree in pristine health! _See? Not a lick of common sense._ He'd barely been able to talk them around, weaving a story of being just the mouthpiece, forced to obey the pronouncements of On High and trickle them down to, as Metatron called them, The Rabble. (He didn't actually _know_ what Metatron called the other angels beyond a dismissive _them_ , but he'd doubted a bunch of hyped up lower ranking angels would be capable of understanding that kind of nuance, and made it a little clearer for them). He'd not only survived, he'd increased the number of angels who believed him the better candidate for full leadership of Heaven. Possibly planted the seeds of a future coup, given he hadn't heard a compliment about the Higher Ups in months, but needs must, and all of that malarkey. 

'Gabriel!' He let his eyes flick over to Michael, shot them a rather unimpressed frown at being interrupted. 'He's here.'

He offered an even more unimpressed sigh, and his most condescending tone. 'Michael, we've talked about this. Clarity in message is a virtue. You waste time in conversations when you do not give clear information. Now I have to ask for context. Now, my time is wasted asking 'who?' and reminding you that there is a rather impressive number of 'hes' in the world and I cannot be expected to keep tabs on all of them just to keep you from giving me a Satan-damned name. Do you see how, by simply _saying_ the correct information you could sa-'

'The traitor's brat. The demon was telling the truth. He has a son, and the son has been brought here for questioning.'

'On whose authority?' Michael faltered, and their nervous energy seemed to increase ten-fold at the realisation that they might have just interrupted him not with praiseworthy news, but to report an unmitigated fuck up.

'Sandalphon found and captured him, of his own volition, Gabriel. Once I saw what he had done, I knew I had to inform you immediately. I asked him to take the mortal into the interrogation rooms so that the other angels would not get too curious and intervene.' Their sudden shift towards groveling was cloying and conciliatory, with just the tiniest hint of annoyance. Gabriel rather liked that tone on them.

'Fine. Let's go see how tight a noose Sandalphon has wrapped around his own foolish little neck, shall we?' It was always wise to let the other angels leave the room first, if only so he could keep an eye on them. He made a show of locking his office tightly before gesturing smugly for Michael to lead on. A barely audible huff of frustration, and the lesser being strode off towards the interrogation rooms, Gabriel following at a polite distance. The other angels bowed their heads as he passed, and he made a mental note to leave the office more often and really enjoy the deference.

*

As soon as they entered the viewing room, Gabriel's gaze shifted to the boy in question, stepping to the side so that Sandalphon's irritatingly large head was not in the way. The boy did not look particularly interesting on the surface- he had a face and a body, and the appropriate number of limbs for a mortal of his kind. The messy hair was irritating enough that Gabriel contemplated conjuring a brush and setting to work bringing it to order, before it either drove him mad with the disorder of it all, or gained sentience and attacked. The scowl that would make Beelzebub proud, sure, was a little odd, though sometimes humans had a habit of turning fear into rage when feeling threatened in a situation. And judging by the ranting about abduction, it would seem he'd felt more than threatened enough to lash out- surely it was at least somewhat normal for a human to be twitchy after believing themselves kidnapped? (Heaven, Gabriel knew, _did not kidnap._ Kidnapping was terrible, immoral behaviour, and as angels, they were clearly above such primitive, repugnant actions. No, they simply borrowed people momentarily, with permission gained either before transportation, or before they were allowed to leave again. Silly, silly child. So used to life with a demon he'd assume the worst of the best of creation).

Typically, he'd chalk it up to a mortal's bluster, though there was a niggling sense of familiarity, an idea that he would possibly be a player some time in the future that made shrugging off the kid's mood anomaly somewhat difficult. Well, that and the way he'd managed to so easily seize control of the conversation, the way he'd left Sandalphon near- frozen by the door. That? That was just embarrassing for angel kind. _What angel worth their wings would be so defeated by a silly, mortal child?_ Mentally, he gave Sandalphon five slowly counted seconds to rally, before realising the angel was unlikely to buck up anytime soon. Honestly, did he have to do everything himself? _What was the use of having a Heavenly Host if they couldn't even talk to a mortal without swooning?_

'Come along, Michael', he called as he strode towards the door to the interrogation room, throwing it open and pointedly ignoring the sounds of Sandalphon's unexpected journey towards having some sense knocked into him. This close, he could feel the power radiating off of the brat, far more power than a mortal of his age should have. It was... disconcerting, the kind of disconcerting that made him want to creep away back to the door, lock the anomaly in, and run the fuck away. How did Sandalphon, did _Michael_ , fail to notice that much rage and power? The kid felt like the Antichrist on a bad day.

The Antichrist, he'd learned, had morals enough not to make fatal use of his powers when angry. Gabriel had no idea what the Hell this mortal would do. Let alone could do. And not knowing? Gabriel hated it.

For his part, the boy frowned as he looked to Gabriel, looked him over as though the Archangel before him were something unpleasant he'd trodden in rather than a creature to be feared and respected. Gabriel knew that look. Gabriel had _invented_ that dismissive, haughty expression, and damned if it didn't startle him to see it directed at him like he was a wayward fledgling with an opinion. The boy quirked an eyebrow and muttered, 'Wow. You licked a lot of windows as a kid, huh?'

The barb made him flinch, but at least it shook him out of the minor catatonia he'd felt at the sheer overwhelming presence of the boy's magical energy. Unsure of what the Hell to do about _that_ , Gabriel elected to ignore him altogether. There were other battles to fight. He'd deal with that one later. 

And only if he had no other choice. 

'Sandalphon, you know better than to bring new friends home without asking first.' The angel in question reddened in frustration, embarrassment or insult. Gabriel didn't particularly care which part of the barb had drawn blood, just so long as it had. Just so long as the smarmy little git did something other than perfect his corpse impression. 

' _You_ said we'd need to interrogate him once he was found. How was I to know that was just idle chatter rather than an order?' Gabriel let his expression fall to blankness, if only because he knew it scared the shit out of the underlings when he did so. The little bastard was getting good at covering his ass. Too good at it. He'd need to be watched more closely, the rebellion stomped right out of him as viscously and painfully as possible. The lower ranked angel shrugged, seemingly unconcerned that this was the second time in the day he'd dared pick a fight with his superior. Gabriel made a mental note to make the little asshole regret his very creation. 'He's here now, Gabriel. We need to interrogate him.' 

Shifting gracefully to Sandalphon's side, Michael gave Gabriel a rather complicated look. Michael, it must be said, was a master in maintaining a polite, respectful expression that, just below the surface, was brimming with the sort of rebellious spite and mischief that made Gabriel want to rip their head from their body. 'Yes, Gabriel. You're here, and clearly Sandalphon is unable to achieve this objective. This seems a rather perfect teachable moment, wouldn't you say? Show him how it's done.' Clearly, they'd noticed Gabriel's unease. Like every other shark that ever flailed around the waterways, Michael had scented blood, and gone in for the kill.

 _Good luck with that, you little shit._ It took more than a ominous, scowling mortal to bring down The Archangel Fucking Gabriel. Gabriel had fucking well _made_ sharks. They were scared of _him,_ not the other way around, bucko.

He turned to face Michael, staring them down until they fidgeted restlessly before him, their head bowed. Point made, he offered an arctic sort of a grin, so cold even polar bears ran off to find something a tad warmer. 'No.'

Behind him, the boy snorted in amusement. He pointedly ignored the sound.

'No?' Even drowned in disbelief, Michael's voice was softer, warier than before. Good. They should be worried. If they wouldn't obey through respect, Gabriel was more than willing to force obedience through sheer fucking terror if he needed to. 

'Is there an echo?' Michael apparently also felt the driving need to redden. 'Do I look like your Mummy, Michael? Am I meant to read you a bedtime story and tuck you in at night?' Startled, Michael shook their head quickly, a blur of motion that no doubt was making them feel a little queasy. _Good_. 'Leadership is not about swooping in and taking over things, Michael. It isn't cleaning up the messes of those around you like you're a maid. No, no, no. Leadership is helping those I work with reach and exceed their potential. If I storm in now and do it all myself, what would you two learn about fixing your mistakes? About making better choices? You both know to confirm orders before acting.' He pulled out his phone, waved it around as sarcastically as possible. 'You may notice that there are no messages from you, Sandalphon. I have _certainly_ noticed. _You_ made a unilateral decision without verifying whether Heaven's objectives had changed, or even ensuring you could bring him in quietly without creating a ruckus amongst the Host.' Michael was smirking, savouring their kin's discomfit and their own minor reprieve from being lectured, and that just wouldn't do. There was no way in Hell Gabriel was letting them off the hook that easily. 

'And you, Michael? You, as Sandalphon's _superior_ , should have intervened immediately to verify his orders and ensure he had sought appropriate permissions, not congratulated him and assume I'd clean up your messes for you! You keep saying you're ready for more responsibility, and yet, here we are, with you unable to meet your most _basic_ duties.' He paused, watched the pair squirm under the power of him pretending to deeply contemplate his every disappointment in them, and tried to hide his amusement. 'Just because you have ascended the ranks to a certain extent does not mean that you cannot be returned to where you started from. Heaven has no place for leaders who disobey their orders and dither at the simplest obstacle.' They stood, cowering before him, the boy's sniggering unnoticed as they fidgeted and shook and tried oh-so-hard to figure a way out of the clusterfuck they had created. And Gabriel?

Gabriel fucking reveled in the sight.

'So this is what we're going to do: you two made the mess, and _you_ will clean it up. The boy is here now, for better or worse, and the only thing more foolish than taking him would be to not question him while he's here. As such, you _will_ gain information from him. You cannot harm him- I refuse to throw Heaven into a war because you're unable to undertake simple tasks without me there holding your hands. If you get the information required, you can keep your positions, for now. If not, well, I'll need to break out my orientation workshops, won't I?' Their flinches were worth the rather painful thought of wasting months on their retraining. 

Before either could reply, he strode from the room, a hint of grace slamming the door behind him, the click of the lock loud in the sudden silence. 

Another small miracle created him a rather comfortable chair to settle into (he had a momentary instinct to miracle himself some popcorn before shaking his head and reminding himself to take a nap, because clearly he was starting to hallucinate) and savoured the look of shock on the angel's faces as they stared at the door as though expecting him to leap back out and shout 'surprise'. 

One minute passed. Then two. Minutes three through five seemed to interpretive dance their way through the room unnoticed as the pair stared at the door. He was going to create a new sub class of angels, just to throw the two utterly useless wankstains as far below the bottom of the command chain as possible.

'Your boss must really hate you guys. You know he just set you up to fail, right?'

The boy's expression was delighted, positively beaming, as though all his Christmases- and everyone else's, too- had come and once and showered him with... whatever the Hell it was mortals liked about December 25th, given it wasn't even his uppity stepbrother's birthday. Slowly, as though they'd forgotten the boy was even there, the pair of angels turned to stare at him. 

'What do you mean, mortal?' At least Michael had found their voice, irritating though that voice might be. Sandalphon was still simply staring, mouth agape. Gabriel wondered, idly, if the boy were using magic to make his smile wider- surely it shouldn't be possible for humans to smile like that? Creepy damned creatures. 

'I mean, your boss didn't just rip you a new one, did he? Didn't take you outside for a bit of a chat and to go over the plan. He ripped you a new one _in front of me._ He outlined your instructions _in front of me._ In front of the person he's demanded you gain information from. If he wanted you to succeed, would he really undermine your authority like that? I mean, it's like he's made you wear full clown costumes before you try and intimidate me- it doesn't work, you know? He just handed me all the power in this situation, and you're too stupid to have realised it.' Dammit, he'd hoped that little ploy would have gone unnoticed. That the mortal had basically sung that revelation to them? Not okay. 

'Explain.' Michael prowled towards the boy, scowling in a way that would probably be intimidating if they weren't shaking so badly. The mortal had a terribly good smirk, all things considered. 

'I know you're not allowed to cause me harm, meaning you can't threaten me or torture me for information using physical threats. That's what you've always done with my father, right? Threats of violence? And you literally abducted me, so clearly, your go-to is threats and violence here. That he's refusing to do anything to risk a war between you and my fathers means that you can't use the people I care about against me, either. Pretty much means you can't use your powers to force my compliance, either. Mortals- and my Dads- are so twitchy about stuff like consent, you know. Add to that, he's made sure I know exactly what happens to you if you can't break me- which, in case you were wondering, you can't- so I can just focus on how much I'd enjoy seeing you both scraping dirt off the floors any time I need a bit of extra incentive to refuse to talk.' He shrugged.

'Clearly, he wants you to use your brains to win this, rather than relying on the usual bullshit you work with.' The boy spread his arms wide, grinning like a demon. 'So let's get started, shall we?'


End file.
